


Thunder

by agent_florida



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-05
Updated: 2011-03-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 19:43:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_florida/pseuds/agent_florida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s a tempest. Yeah, right, and he’s a veritable rock of stability. But he’ll get his last request, and exactly how he wants it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thunder

Agent Washington was counting the seconds to see if the thunder was coming or going.  
  
One, two, three, four,  _crack_. One, two, three, four,  _crack_.  
  
She was as reliable as clockwork, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t last for long. Her brother exited the shooting range before she did, making cutting motions across his throat as if to say that talking to her right now was useless. Wash didn’t care. He wasn’t here to  _talk_  to her anyway.  
  
One, two, three,  _crack_. One, two, three,  _crack_. One, two, three,  _crack_.  
  
Storm was getting closer, then. Her brother must have told her already; there was no other reason for her to be so pissed off that she resorted to burning through some of the Project’s scarcest ammo.  
  
One, two,  _crack_. One, two,  _crack_. One, two,  _crack_. One, two,  _crack_.  
  
He swallowed, trying to think of what he was going to tell her. He was nervous, and he couldn’t pinpoint which source was affecting him more: the conversation he had just gotten out of with the Counselor, or the conversation he was about to get into with her. Without even being able to see her, he knew she was just looking for an excuse to hurt something, and he didn’t want to inadvertently give her the chance to.  
  
One,  _crack_. One,  _crack_. One,  _crack_. One,  _crack_. One,  _crack_.  
  
The sounds of her shooting lessened for a moment, and Wash took the opportunity to let himself into the shooting range. But no, she was just reloading, and once she had punched her next cartridge onto the top of her rifle, she went to town on the full-auto setting, glaring harshly at her target. It was interesting for Wash to see her rage written so plainly on her face. Usually she never let on about her feelings, but apparently she was more open to discussion now.  
  
Once her clip was spent, she ejected it and reached for another, but this was the perfect opportunity for Wash to get her attention. “Grace.”  
  
She turned to face him, gun still cradled against her petite frame. Her dark eyes were black with anger, her blushing lips tight. She had cut her hair since he had last seen her; instead of a braid reaching down to the center of her back, she wore it curling around her chin, emphasizing the delicacy of her face. It was deceptive, showing no hint of the utter bitchiness of the woman beneath. “David,” she acknowledged him, her voice icy.  
  
He winced; he hated when people used his first name. “I came here to talk to you, South.”  
  
“Well, I’m not much in the mood to talk.” She took off her ear protection, glaring at him. “Besides, I’m sure I already know what you’re going to say.”  
  
But when she turned her back to set her gun down, Wash took his chance; he told her the truth. “I’m afraid.”  
  
As predicted, she whipped around, her almond eyes wide with surprise. “You’re lying.”  
  
“They rated me for implantation.” She already knew that part, by the way she crossed her arms. But she didn’t know this: “It’s happening for me tomorrow. Tomorrow afternoon.”  
  
“So? My brother is getting his tomorrow morning. Why are you telling me this, anyway? Just to piss me off even more?”  
  
“I’m afraid,” he repeated.  
  
She scoffed. “I’m not impressed.”  
  
“I came to you because I trust you.” He wasn’t entirely sure if he was telling the truth, but she had been reliable to her brother North during all of their previous missions so far, so he at least trusted her professionally. “I’ve… heard things about the implantation process, and none of them are good.”  
  
“What are you trying to say?” She was trying to glare up at him as he stepped closer to her, but it wasn’t as effective when he was easily a foot taller than she was.  
  
“From what I’ve heard…” He sighed, brushing a wisp of hair from her forehead. “York and Carolina are only doing so well because they fucked each other senseless before their implantations.”  
  
“York and Carolina were already in a relationship,” she interrupted.  
  
Wash just talked over her. “And, seeing as your brother has just been rated for implantation, you can’t be far behind. I just thought you might think it was a good idea to –”  
  
“To what?” To his surprise, she didn’t look completely repulsed; instead, she had a vaguely smug, flirtatious look on her face. The smile curling at the corner of South’s lips was mocking him. “This is the worst attempt at seduction I’ve ever seen.”  
  
“South, I’m being serious. We would both benefit from this.”  
  
She just raised an eyebrow at him next, completing her cocky, self-assured expression. “Who says I can’t go to someone else?”  
  
“I do.” And before she could interrupt him again, he explained himself. “The only other agent who shows a hint of potential for being rated is Maine – and he, like everyone else here, seems to think you’re a bit of a bitch. And if you’re thinking that being related to North is going to save you, it’s not.” He smirked. “Looks like you don’t have a choice.”  
  
The way she stared back at him was harsh, but the next words out of her mouth were soft. “We always have a choice, Wash.”  
  
“Then it looks like you made yours a long time ago.” He grasped her chin, basking in the frightened look in her eyes for the briefest moment before he captured her lips in a fierce kiss.  
  
And to his surprise, South didn’t fight it, went along with his advances, and that scared him more than anything else. Here was a four-foot-ten soldier who could just as easily kick his ass as kiss him, and though in times past she had usually opted for the former, this time she was… submitting. No, better than submitting, she was participating, arms hooking around his neck as she slipped her tongue into his mouth. She pulled back for the briefest moment, pressing her body up against his as well as she could. “This had better be worth my while.”  
  
He whirled her around, slamming her into the concrete wall separating her shooting lane from the rest of the range, a knee coming up between her thighs. “I know you’re angry right now,” he murmured, hands working in her shirt, slipping it up to bunch around her waist. “I know you want to hurt something, and I want to remember how it feels.”  
  
And then the storm was breaking around him. South was a wildcat in his arms, biting at his neck, pushing his shirt up frantically so she could scrape her nails on his back, and he struggled to meet her fury, stripping off her shirt, grabbing at her hips, her breasts, her hair. She was so tiny, and it was easy for him to lean down, slide his hands up her thighs, and push her up to pin her against the wall, using his mouth to trace a path from earlobe to collarbone to cleavage. He could hear her head knock against the wall even as she continued to claw at his back, her legs coming up to lock around his waist, and she ground her hips against him purposefully, deliberately, testing his desperation.  
  
A little insistent tugging, and his shirt followed hers to the floor. Their eyes met briefly, just long enough for Wash to wonder once again if this wasn’t all a huge mistake, and then it didn’t matter as South’s tongue, followed by her hot mouth, toyed with one of his nipples. When her hand came up to pinch the other between her nails, he couldn’t stop the moan crawling out of his throat. He wanted her. He wanted her badly, and he wanted her now. “Here?” he asked her, voice hoarse, low with need.  
  
“Why the hell not,” she whispered against his chest, teeth scraping up to the divot between his clavicles before her tongue lapped at him there.  
  
He couldn’t get into her pants fast enough. Their fingers fumbled together at belts, buttons, zippers, and he tried to disentangle from her long enough to pull her trousers down, but his hands got stuck somewhere around her ass and he didn’t have the heart to move them. His mouth was back on hers, their kisses hot and sloppy, using far too much teeth than was strictly necessary, and he knew he’d be bleeding by the time tonight was over.  
  
Tactics. He needed some kind of strategy or he’d never get her trousers off her legs. Thankfully there was a flat surface right there, the shelf separating her lane from her target, littered with casings and still showing off her gun. He laid her down there none too kindly, her forced sigh the hottest sound he had ever heard, and pulled at her trousers again, his own falling down his legs. Sometime in the past five minutes she had kicked off her combat boots, and her socked feet came around his thighs and nudged his body back to hers.  
  
He forgot all about his own shoes as his thumbs traced the tension in her thighs, hooking in her pants and pulling everything at her hips down slowly, so slowly, feeling her full-bodied shiver. Her eyes were closed, her head lolling to the side, carefully not looking at him as he undressed her, and he felt a flare of pride knowing he had been the one to bring her to this shame. He brought a hand up, palming against the smoothness of her stomach, before his fingertips sought out the one spot that could pull her apart. She keened, back arching, hands scrabbling at his biceps for something to hold onto as he drew slow circles on her clit. He knew he must be smirking, looking down at her losing her composure, but when she next opened her eyes she matched his expression immediately, her grin predatory and sadistic.  
  
She reached down, palm skimming the trail of hair leading into his briefs, and her slim fingers easily slipped under the waistband of his briefs to curl around the head of his cock. The feeling was so good Wash could have howled, but he settled for a grunt as he one-upped her, fumbling in her folds before unceremoniously pushing a finger inside her, nudging forward to that one spot that made her throat mewl and her mouth contort into a delicious O.  
  
She was ready, hot and dripping around his hand. He was ready, hard and aching in her fist. “Please,” she moaned, “say you have something…”  
  
“Back pocket –” was all he could gasp out before their free hands went to work on his pants, his fist holding them up, her fingers fumbling with the button and slipping inside.  
  
“You carry these around with you all the time, David?” she teased, flashing the condom packet in his face, but she was breathless the same as he was.  
  
“I am going to fuck the words out of you,” he promised as her teeth ripped open the foil. Whatever he was going to say next was lost in a hiss as her hands worked on him.  
  
“I’d like to see you try.” Her smile as she looked up at him was fanged and wicked.  
  
He sank into her slowly, barely keeping his groan at a reasonable level. She was sighing, breathing hard, accommodating him as best she could, and she mewled when he brushed up against her sweet spot. “Told you,” he breathed into her ear once he was balls-deep.  
  
“Oh, come on, Wash, is that all you’ve got,” she mock-complained, scratching at his shoulders in a mute plea for more.  
  
“If you can still  _talk_  –” his first violent thrust almost left  _him_  wordless – “then I’m  _doing_  something  _wrong_.” For how forceful he was, he was determined to take his time, to remember every second of this, to burn it in his memory and never let it go. She was perfect like this, skin slicked with sweat, breasts jostling with every shove, and most importantly, mouth too occupied with panting to say words. “ _Tell_  me how _good_  it  _feels_.”  
  
“Never –  _aah, yeah_  – never took you for the insecure type,” she huffed out, half-lidded eyes trying and failing to meet his.  
  
If he’d had any semblance of self-control, it melted away at that, leaving behind nothing but a deep, primal urge in him. There was no respite now between his thrusts; he was leaving hand-shaped bruises on her tiny hips, just like she was leaving heel-shaped bruises on his backside. “South – oh, God,  _South_ …” It was punctuated by the wet slapping of skin-on-skin, harsh breathing and muted curses. “Just – just _shut up_ , you’re sexier with your mouth shut.”  
  
“Make me,” she challenged him. Her eyes were half-lidded and dark with lust, her hair tangled around her face like a black halo. Those wicked nails were working at his chest, his arms, his sides, leaving little scratches in their wake.  
  
He leaned over the little shelf, hands on either side of her head, and kissed her like he wanted to suffocate her. It was a mash of teeth, tongues, more like devouring than caressing, and her hands came up to hold his head to hers, trying to fist in hair that wasn’t quite long enough, gripping the base of his neck and clawing to find purchase. All of her was surrounding him, and he reached further up, grabbing for the edge of the shelf for leverage, because he had to fuck her harder,  _harder_ , had to show her how much he hated needing her.  
  
She broke for air; Wash moved his mouth to her neck, sucking, biting, licking. “Fuck,” she breathed with every thrust, “fuck,  _fuck_ , Wash…”  
  
“That’s more like it,” he growled into her ear. She was tight and hot and incoherent and flushing and panting and sweating and tiny and  _perfect_ , everything he knew she could be, and he took everything she had to give.  
  
“Harder, Wash – fucking hell,” and he couldn’t help but oblige her as her hands went to the opposite side of the shelf, pulling herself down onto him and forcing him faster and  _deeperohgod_  and further and further.  
  
“South –  _South_ ,” he cried out, deliciously close, dancing the knife’s edge, peaking, surfing, couldn’t give in, had to make her go first.  
  
It surprised him, with how loud she’d been, that she came with nothing but a small sigh, knuckles white as she squeezed the shelf, ankles crossing behind his back and holding him deep as she tensed and twitched and her eyes rolled back in her head. God, she was gorgeous when she came undone, and he burned her face into his memory as he finally lost it with a grunt, burying his face in her neck and breathing in her scent.  
  
They were breathless for a few moments, gasping for air, Wash trying hard not to crush South under his weight as he slumped over her, chests heaving against each other. Slowly, her legs came down from around his waist, and she pet at one of his arms gently and groaned when he pulled out. Everything was slippery and disgusting, but he took care of the condom, knotting it and tossing it behind him in the general direction of the can meant for the spent shell casings. When she pushed herself up on shaky elbows, she looked at him with a wicked grin, but didn’t say anything. “I make good on my promises,” he told her, palms slick over her sweaty thighs as he pushed her away and pulled his trousers back up around his waist.  
  
He hadn’t really considered how small she was until she was back on the ground – easily a foot shorter than him, even after she managed to get her feet back into her combat boots. She looked even smaller in her baggy excuse for a casual uniform, drenched in sweat, with all the energy taken from her posture. “I…” she started, then shook her head.  
  
There was no fight in her any more; the storm had passed. He really  _had_  fucked the words out of her. “Thank you,” he said, stiff and awkward, and he leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead. “I won’t forget.”  
  
As he left, he could hear her picking up the gun again. There was the distinctive slam of a cartridge being put into place… and then nothing but a single  _crack_  before he closed the door. He smirked to himself idly. Even with the storm broken, she was still full of thunder – exactly how he liked her.


End file.
